


Companion

by Kass



Series: Doctor Who fanworks [28]
Category: Doctor Who, Firefly
Genre: F/M, intoabar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 11:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3849844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of going to fetch his drink, the woman smiled and pulled out the chair beside him, settling herself without invitation. "You're the Doctor," she said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Companion

The lighting was dim, but the Doctor was fairly certain that was someone's attempt to create ambiance, not an ineffective disguise for grime. He eyed the bar itself, and the ponytailed bartender working behind it, and settled at a table in the corner instead.

Mere moments after he sat down, a woman came over to his table. Dark hair, bright eyes; she reminded him just a bit of Clara.

"I'll have a glass of scotch," he said, flapping a hand to send her back toward the bar. "Neat."

Instead of going to fetch his drink, the woman smiled and pulled out the chair beside him, settling herself without invitation. "You're the Doctor," she said.

"And you're apparently not a waitress. Yes, I'm the Doctor. And who are you?"

"I'm Inara Serra," she said. "Your Companion for the evening."

Just then a young man came over to the table and interrupted. "Drink order?"

"Scotch, neat. And she'll have," he prompted.

"Whiskey will be fine," she agreed, and the waiter walked away.

"Companion for the evening?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow, inviting further explanation.

"Until morning, if you like."

And _that_ sounded rather more risqué than was comfortable. "I think there's been a misunderstanding," the Doctor said quickly. "I don't need a companion. I'm sure you're very lovely, but I have a companion; she's just home recuperating from the flu. At least we think it's the flu. Though we hadn't been anywhere near 1918, so it shouldn't be _that_ strain."

Most people would have been distracted by the reference to the pandemic of 1918, but Inara's face remained composed. "The captain of your ship seemed to think a Companion was necessary."

"The captain of my -- " The Doctor stopped in mid-sentence, a horrible and hilarious certainty beginning to form. "If I may ask, who, precisely, engaged you?"

"I received a reservation from Captain Tardis," Inara said.

"That's TARDIS," he muttered, though it wasn't at all clear that she heard the difference.

"The character references she enclosed were impeccable." Just then the waiter appeared with their drinks, and they both remained silent until he had gone.

The Doctor took a long sip of his, stalling for time as he considered how best to proceed. Not quite peaty enough for his tastes, but few whiskies were. He changed the subject. "Where are you from, Inara Serra?"

"I was born on Sihnon," she said. "I trained at House Madrassa, although I left that House some time ago and don't regret that decision. I enjoy traveling the Outer Rim."

That had the ring of a script she had recited many times before, and he wanted to crack her facade, so he took a more direct tack. "What exactly does a Companion do?"

"That depends," she said smoothly. "We can just sit and talk. Share travel stories, if you like. In my shuttle I can offer tea, and meditation. Massage, naturally, and the other arts."

"I can assure you that won't be necessary," he said hastily.

Now Inara's smile looked more genuine. "It's rarely _necessary_ ," she pointed out. "But often sweet."

"I prefer partners who haven't been paid." That came out rather more sharply than he intended. "No offense intended."

Inara spread her hands. "None taken." She spoke again just as he raised his glass to drink. "Though I assure you, I never say yes to a client unless I'm looking forward to whatever might ensue."

The Doctor very nearly choked on his scotch. Inara lifted hers to her lips and drank. He could see amusement in her expression.

"Are you always this direct?"

"I had the sense you might appreciate it." Inara shrugged one elegant shoulder and her wrap slipped, exposing more of her neck and collarbone. That was obviously a calculated move, though well-done, and her collarbones _were_ quite fine.

"I'm surprised you're not asking questions of me," the Doctor mused.

"You're a Time Lord," Inara said, "from Gallifrey, and you help people. Your captain was quite effusive."

For some reason that annoyed him, and he snapped at her. "Did she also see fit to mention that I don't suffer fools gladly?"

"She did not," Inara said, sipping her scotch, "though I think I might have noticed that on my own."

"And yet you're still sitting here," he pointed out.

For a moment, Inara's eyes sparked with a private light, which was intriguing. "The captain of the ship with which I travel can be a bit of a curmudgeon himself."

He seized on that, grateful for the opportunity to deflect the conversation away from himself. "And who would that be?"

"His name is Malcolm Reynolds." Inara drank.

"And does he have a good reason for being a misanthrope?"

"He was a Browncoat." Her tone implied that that was reason enough. Then again, given when and where the TARDIS had landed, he supposed that made sense.

"Ahh." The Doctor took a meditative sip of his own scotch. He was warming to it. Maybe that was the natural side effect of having drunk half a glass. "I've lost track; tell me, how long has it been since Serenity Valley?" He was guessing, taking a stab in the dark, but she smiled ruefully.

"Long enough that he's starting to mellow," she admitted. "And he hasn't lost faith in humanity altogether, despite everything he's seen."

"Hmm."

Inara's gaze seemed sharper now. "And you?"

"What about me? We're not talking about me," he protested.

"You were a soldier too, weren't you?"

"Did the -- " about to say TARDIS, he he corrected himself, "the captain of my ship tell you that?"

"No, no," Inara corrected, and had the good grace not to mention the obvious relief on his face. "But I know how to make an educated guess. You're sitting with your back to the wall."

"Plenty of people do that," he objected.

"Your eyes have tracked everyone who's come in. You know where all the doors are."

"That's just common sense!"

"And your eyes -- you've seen horrendous things," she said quietly, "but they're still kind."

An echo of Amy Pond rippled through his memory. _Very old, and very kind_.

And he was so much older now than he had been when she said those words. Was he still as kind?

The Doctor tossed back the end of his drink and cleared his throat. "Well then," he said, proud that his voice didn't shake. "You're more perceptive than I expected." He pushed back his chair and rose. "But I think I should be going."

Inara reached into her bag and placed a few coins on the table, and rose with him. "Would you like to come back to my shuttle? No obligation," she said lightly.

"I think I'm more comfortable bringing strangers to my ship than the other way around."

"Is that an invitation?"

He hadn't meant for it to be, but suddenly it didn't sound like a bad idea. The Doctor crooked his arm and offered it to her, and Inara took it, smiling.

"You'll like my ship," he said as they made their way to the door.

"I like a lot of ships," Inara sad agreeably.

"I can guarantee you've never seen anything like her." He was looking forward to watching Inara do a doubletake when she stepped inside.

The pub's door jingled as he pushed it open, and they walked out into the surprisingly pleasant night.


End file.
